


The Light in my Life

by PannyBx



Category: Criminal Minds, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PannyBx/pseuds/PannyBx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer Reid has spent over a decade at the BAU and he can't sleep through the night. Not only is it what he's seen, and can't forget, but his person life that seems to go from one tragedy to the next, but he could have accepted and moved on from that, if he ever got some happiness back.<br/>But he doesn't, and it hurts.</p><p>Remy LeBeau is looking for another re-start in life when he meets Spencer Reid and the two could be polar opposites, and yet, they also seem to be cut from the same cloth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Reid?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :) This is the first fanfiction that I'm writing and would love it if you gave it a read. If you have any suggestions, comments or if I've made any errors please tell and I'll try and fix it.  
> Thank you :)
> 
> I'll update as often as I can

Hotch was leaving the BAU building late. Ever since Jack had come to live with him, he made it his mission to get cases done as fast as possible, do as much paperwork at home as he could and always, always be back in time for bedtime, if not dinner.   
Today had not gone as planned; Morgan and Savanah had taken a day off to celebrate their anniversary and the paperwork had to be caught up by the other members of the team, on top of a triple homicide by an arsonist who had a flair for the dramatic. When they returned Reid got the worse of the paperwork, but even then, the rest of the team staggered beneath it. Reid, of course, had finished just a bit later than usual and head off. The rest had called it a night half an hour or so earlier and it was only the night staff around, or so Hotch thought.  
Was there someone crying? It was coming from the men’s bathroom. But they couldn’t have been there long; then again, Morgan wasn’t here and Dave and he had a bathroom closer to their offices. Hotch checked the time, it was about ten to eleven and Jack was already fast asleep, which caused a twist in his chest. Should he check? He gingerly moved towards the door when he heard the crying stop and a cracked voice speak instead.  
“Come on, this is pathetic.”  
Hotch recognised Reid’s voice and moved towards the door, his hand pausing on the handle, barley moving it.  
Gideon’s death had been just a month ago, but it wasn’t an anniversary of anything specific Hotch could pinpoint. Then again, how would he know which one? His mother? Maeve? Tobias?   
He heard a sigh, and something like a muttered curse, which was enough for Hotch to push the door open. The last time Reid had cursed was during Maeve’s abduction.  
Reid was in front of the sink; his forehead pressed against the mirror, highlighting the dark marks under his eyes. His hands gripped the sink so his knuckles were white, though the rest of his hand was red raw, as if he had spent ages scrubbing them. Reid’s cheeks were stained red.  
He took a step inside, “Reid?”  
Spencer opened one eye, but didn’t move his head away, just rolled it slightly so he was facing Hotch.   
“I’m fine.”  
Reid’s voice, now under control, was startlingly realistic and in a tone, Hotch realized with a jolt, that was all-too familiar.   
“Really? You left hours ago.” No reply, Hotch thought he may have to move into longer questions, but Reid started again.  
“Hotch, it’s 11:53, Jack isn’t at school tomorrow and you have a day off. Please go home so you can enjoy that. I’m fine.”  
That must have worked before, but Hotch really couldn’t see Reid getting away with ‘I’m fine’ when there were no distractions and his pain was so clear.  
“You are clearly not, Reid.”  
“Are you going to leave?” Reid turned now to look at him fully, pushing away from the sink.   
Hotch just shook his head.  
“It’s nothing I can’t manage, or haven’t before.” Hotch remained stony, even though it broke his heart a bit. Spencer had a gift for remaining younger, more innocent, than the rest of them. Even when life kicked him twice as hard and then held him down. But now his face looked hardened, like every pain inflicted upon him had settled in his features. Now was not the time to let Reid just sort it out himself.  
“Talk to me, Reid.”  
That didn’t have the desired response. At all. In fact, he seemed to take it as an insult.  
“I know you mean well, Hotch, but I’m not going to just talk about this on command.” Reid’s expression crumbled a bit. “Why is it always like this? I can be in pain, and you only notice when its thrust in your face and you can’t ignore it. I have NEVER done that. When I’ve seen any of you hurt, I’ve tried to help, always, even when I didn’t know how and it made me uncomfortable. I have dealt with my mother’s breaking downs, being bullied, shot, tortured, almost killed, a drug addition, all the bloody cases, abandonment, deaths, people I love dead, Hotch, a schizophrenic-near miss as well as all the other things I’m terrified of that live in my head. Add an eidetic memory to that, Hotch! I can’t forget one bit of it! And I’ve only had help when it became obvious. Why? I may not always know how to show my emotions, or even what they are, but they’re there! And I hurt!”  
“Spencer….” Hotch gently moved forward, but the action caused Spencer to flinch away, his dark brown eyes wide and confused. Spencer was still uneasy with physical contact, but he had never flinched away from him before. Hotch was trying not to wince, he wasn’t offended, but when Spencer lets out his emotions, it’s hard not to be reminded of the twenty-two year old who could barely meet their eyes.  
“Just hurt so, so ridiculously much, Hotch. When you go home, when you’ve been though a case that makes you want to throw up and just hide, you have Jack, your family. So does JJ and Kate. Rossi has his friends, his daughter. Garcia and Morgan get to go home to people that love them. I go home to books and, if I’m lucky, a letter from my mother or a message from a friend that’s gone away. I’m somewhere- I’ve never wanted to know where- on the Autism spectrum- do you know how much it hurts, how much it scares you, when someone who has become part of your life just goes away? Do you?”  
Hotch put his hand on Spencer’s should- when had he become so thin?- but Hotch had no idea what he could say. He had never felt so out of his depth with Reid before, and, like Reid, he had never been one to freely express emotion. This wasn’t just one incident, but the pile up of everything he’s had to face. Hotch knew the feeling, after Haley’s murder, but the main thing he had needed was some space, some time, and seeing and caring for his son.  
“We love you Reid, all of us, we’re here for you.”  
Reid turned to look at Hotch, looking years beyond his thirty-two year old face.   
“I’m no one’s first priority Hotch. And I can live with that- but for everything life takes away from me, it doesn’t give anything back, Hotch, nothing and no one. I’m no one’s first priority.”  
Hotch wanted so much it hurt to claim otherwise, but it was true, no matter how much they cared for him; they all had someone who came before everything else. All of them had families; but Reid’s dad had left and that bridge couldn’t be repaired and with Dianna Reid’s illness she could never truly be there in the way Reid needed right now. Maeve was dead and the only friend Reid had ever mentioned outside of work was a New Orleans musician/ possible addict.  
Hotch moved closer, but Spencer still moved away.  
“I’d like to request a person day tomorrow, sir.”  
Was that all? Looking back over the past decade with Reid, he deserved a medal, given to him by someone who would have Reid as their first priority, and know how to look after him when he was like this.   
But there wasn’t, so all Hotch could do was nod and watch as Reid disappeared through the door.   
He texted him on the way home: take the rest of the week off to rest Spencer- AH  
He thought for a minute and added: if there is anything you need, just ask, please, Spencer. If it gets too much, just phone, we’ll be there for you- AH  
That wouldn’t work though. Reid needed someone with whom he never had to ask… especially Spencer, who doesn’t even know how.  
I’m sorry; I know you all care for me. I’ll see you Monday- SR  
Will you let us know? –AH  
Yes, I promise- SR  
I’ll phone you tomorrow to see how you’re doing- AH  
There was no reply. But Reid was justified; he had gone through a lot, with team mostly just subtly trying to help, an odd word here or look there, until it reached a confrontation. It was really only when Reid asked for help, in a way they recognised, or when his struggling stopped him from working, when he got the proper help from his team that he needed.   
Thank you, Hotch, really- SR  
As always, Spencer managed to put a ridiculous amount of emotion into a few words. He remembered when JJ confronted him with being angry at her. He hadn’t responded until JJ had accused him of just being mad that his profile skills slipped and he hadn’t realised JJ and Hotch were lying when they told the team Emily was dead. When Spencer said, “you think this is about my profiling skills?” Reid’s voice had broken, he sounded so hurt and betrayed, but thoroughly pissed at her conclusion. What he said next made them all feel sick when they realized how much they had abused his trust and emotions; to things that Spencer was already so hesitant about.  
The squeeze in Hotch’s chest didn’t let up, even when he was curled in bed, with Jack snoring next door.  
The next morning the team all accepted Hotch’s story that he was ill and was starting the weekend early, even though it was only Wednesday. It made him angry to see them just accept it, even when he heard them talking about going to check up on him. It made him hurt to think of just how lonely Reid must be. Reid, who noticed when JJ was struggling with PTSD and they didn’t, when Emily was scared because she bit her nails, and Rossi upset because of how fast he read a page; who couldn’t ask for help.  
Should he tell them? Spencer might be furious with him, and honestly, an angry Spencer was terrifying. A hurt Spencer after having his trust abused was far worse.  
It was his privacy, his business. And yet, Spencer was family. Families took care of eachother.  
That was when they got called in for a case. In Alabama.   
……..  
Reid stumbled down the street back to his flat, but he was so tired. The last time he had got a full nights sleep was 11 days ago. Last night, he had slept for 3 hours 12 minutes and, give or take, 30 seconds.   
Eventually, he just had to lean against the jitty wall for a while, slipping down until he hit the floor.   
Ten years of the BAU and childhood of being bullied stopped Spencer from falling asleep right then and there. Every atom of his body seemed to cry out in pain, his head was banging, pounding, until all he could hear was the crashing sound it made in his ear. But he kept his eyes open. So when the man- 6.2 ft, injured on his left side, high muscle mass, scared hand with a 4 ½ inch knife- came at him, he was alert enough to stagger upwards.  
“Come on, you know how this go’s.” The man drawled. However, though he sounded bored, his face showed his sick pleasure in his actions.  
“I’m just letting you know now, I’m a federal agent.” Reid said, just wanting the man to go away- he didn’t have the energy for this.   
But the man just snorted, looking Reid up and down; it was true, his lanky frame didn’t really give the impression of an agent. But he steeled himself, and tried to decide on the best action. Roughly half of all robberies resulted in the victim being hurt but only 6% of murders were robbery-related. Flight, fight, or the talk down?  
The man grinned, looking nothing short of sadistically happy as where he was.   
The probability of Spencer being able to talk him down was just reduced. Deeply. He couldn’t take him in a fight- the man was bigger than Morgan- he’d have to try and trick him to reach his gun.  
He could hear a car driving towards them, facing the man currently shaded by his shadow.  
The probability of him remaining uninjured just increased.   
……..  
Remy LeBeau was thoroughly pissed. Victor Creed was messing up his life by just being in the same state as him. Wasn’t it enough that he had walked away (forced from?) New Orleans? His home? He had cast away his life as a thief- though he was a freaking good one- and his (now ex) wife. He wasn’t completely happy, but he was getting there. He had some good jobs, subbing as a teacher for the Professor in New York had made him some really good friends, and now was setting up his pub. He was moving on, from New Orleans, from Rouge, everything.  
Why the hell had Victor shown up now?  
He was supposed to meet him in a jitty, quite close to a block of flats. It was secluded enough not to be noticed, but he could call attention to himself if needed.  
“I’m just warning you now, I’m a federal agent.”  
The unfamiliar voice was clear, stern and unbearably tired. It made him want to curl up just hearing it.   
Then he heard Victor snort.  
He walked round so he could see the jitty entrance. A young, skinny man pushed himself away from the wall, steady from experience. After a life time of reading body language- streets, thieving and then teaching- Remy considers himself rather good. He could see that the man was tired and in pain. He could also see that the man was clearly a FBI agent, as he said, from the way he stood to the flash in his eye. Remy momentarily cursed Victor for being so obvious, the FBI agent didn’t meet the stereotype, true, but surely a Victor was more careful than this? Or was he just cockier?   
Victor moved forward, but the man moved back in a well-practised move, starting to bring his hands up.  
“Just hand over whatever you’ve got and I’ll consider not hurting you.”  
Victor’s tone however made it clear he would be hurting the young FBI agent no matter what. Remy began to move forward to help the young man; Victor could shove it.  
The man had his own plans; he shifted slightly, subtly, so his shadow no longer blocked Victor’s face just as a car rushed pass, bathing them in light. In the seconds that Victor squinted and blinked, the man had taken another step back, well out of lunge reach, and pulled out a gun.   
“Now, will you let me past?”  
When this got no response, the man said something too soft for him to hear, which left Victor stunned and somewhat confused. Remy silently marvelled at whatever he had said, since when had anyone been able to reason with that psychopath? Stupidly, the man shifted back some more, alerting Victor once again to his circumstance. Remy cursed just as Victor let out a stream of curses that masked his.   
Victor had always, always tried to hurt his victims. Victor was a legendary bastard for it; he hadn’t been put off when there were bigger numbers, stronger people, or even better armed ones. The Thieves Guild hadn’t put up with it, but, according to all rumours, his new boss, Nathaniel Essex, encouraged his sadistic streak with a smile. Like a man raising a dog rabid.   
“Hello, mes amis, havin’ fun, are y’s?”  
The man’s eyes darted to his and widened, seeming to be trying to… calculate… Remy into his predicament, but he kept the gun aimed at Victor. Remy felt a small twist in the base of the stomach at the man’s eyes. Beautiful, brown, and innocent. It clashed horribly with his pain.   
“Ah, Remy, you’re late.” Victor accused, but seemed completely at ease. In fact, the bastard was smirking! What the hell? Remy had never put up with Victor before, so he couldn’t think he was going to help him. But even Creed couldn’t think he could take on two at once, with one holding a gun, could he?   
“When ‘as Remy here ever been early?”  
The man took this exchange as a shift for the worse, though he did not seem particularly threatened by Remy. Remy wondered if this was because he had not been able to keep out his hatred for Victor fully out his voice.  
His gun remained steady at Victor.  
“I take it you’re acquainted, but you do not seem to be in support of this mugging.”  
The man had read him then.  
“Oui, sir, trust me. Victor, why don’t we all just go our own ways, hey? Clearly, two against one, you are not going to win, but why not avoid the fight? Call it an end to whatever you dragged me here for, too.”  
Victor was seething; holy crap, he had thought Remy would help him! Remy had regularly denounced him as a cowardly bastard every time they met; what was he thinking?  
“If I were to shoot you in the leg now, you wouldn’t be able to walk and an ambulance would take 13 minutes to get here, after which you would be left in police custody.”  
Remy silently applauded the man by smirking. Victor did not listen to reason, but he was enough of an animal to have a bigger sense of self-preservation over pride.   
Victor kept his knife up, but his eyes narrowed at the gun and he began to move backwards. He looked even angrier than when Jean-Luc had thrown him out the Guild. Remy knew that this was not something he was just going to get over.   
“Never thought I’d see the day where Remy LeBeau, Prince of Thieves, turned down a chance for action! You’re even weaker than the rumours made you out Remy!” Victor called out, harsh and mocking, over his shoulder.  
The FBI agent tucked away his gun and slumped against the wall again, giving Remy a chance to really see his face.  
Mon dieu; but he was beautiful. Everything, from his eyes to his features, and the way they were framed by his wavy chestnut hair that curled around his neck.   
He wore a shirt, tie and waistcoat, completed by a jacket and heavy material coat, with slim, close-fitting trousers. All were in dark blues and black, which, to Remy, seemed to sum up his emotions right now. Truly, handsome as he was, he couldn’t disguise the signs of his distress. His stubble was a day or two old, his clothes dishevelled and his face gaunt. But his eyes were what revealed all. The dark, bruise-like marks under his eyes were clues enough, but in his expression, he saw he was so, very tired.  
Remy’s heart went out to him in that moment.  
“Here cher, let Remy help y’r,” he hesitated at Remy’s offered hand and Remy tried to keep his face as reassuring as possible. It took another beat, but the man nodded and accepted his arm. “Okay, now, where do y’r live, mon ami?”   
The man looked Remy straight in the eye and it pinned him to the spot; but he met his gaze and equalled it.  
“My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, and my flat is just down this road, thank you.”  
“Hello, Spencer.” Remy swept back into a bow, keeping eye contact and a smile on his face, “Remy, Remy LeBeau, at y’r service, mon ami.”


	2. Chapter 2: Sharing Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair walking back :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short but chapter 3's longer.  
> Any comments or suggestions are appreciated :)

Spencer wondered idly why he was letting a stranger and apparent ex-thief take him home. Maybe it was because Spencer could barely walk straight. Maybe because the man, Remy, had offered his arm to help Spencer stay steady and he had not felt this secure in months. 

As they walked, Spencer occasionally throwing out a direction, the Spencer observed LeBeau just as he observed Spencer. From his expression, Spencer could only guess that the man was only checking to see if he was alright. Spencer could also see that Remy’s every feature was striking. His eyes especially, which seemed to flick between shades of green.   
A quick calculation showed that Remy deviated from the golden ratio proportions, but all in ways that set off his face as all the more brilliant. They were about the same size, though it was difficult to tell by walking; however, while Spencer was slim, Remy had a lean muscular frame that spoke of years of training and experience.  
His eyes were so kind though, that Spencer didn’t even feel threatened.

“So, cher, FBI and a doctor?”

“Yes, SSA. Dr. Reid.”

Remy chuckled. Spencer was wondering if this was an appropriate subject of conversation for the context, and was feeling the strain on his very little social awareness. 

“And just what are you a doctor of, Penny?”

That was a frequent enough question for Spencer to feel like he was on more familiar footing. Though the ‘Penny’ threw him a bit, was it a literal Penny that Remy had linked to Spencer, or something else? He deduced it to be a play on his name and though, to his shock, he didn’t mind it, it still made him stutter a bit. God, he was slow when he was tired. 

“I, um, I have Ph.D.’s in engineering, mathematics and chemistry. I also have B.A.’s in psychology, sociology and philosophy.”

“I thought y’ were a smart one.” Remy seemed happy and accepted this information. 

This confused Spencer a bit, comparing it to other reactions. Mostly, people were disbelieving and normally a bit rude, before moving on to congratulating/ teasing him for it. Remy just seemed honestly happy and that warmed Spencer. He didn’t even feel the need to reel of his qualifications as a list to prove he wasn’t lying.

“Y’r look a little lost in t’ought there, Penny.” Remy had chuckled again, but his words prompted a blush.

“I’m sorry… when I get home, I’ll have to call this in, and, as thankful as I am for it, why were you down there?”

“Ah, well cher, dat’s a bit of a story. Simply, I haven’t seen Victor- Victor Creed, he is- in, dieu, six, seven years? I occasionally ran into him, but I hadn’t seen him socially- not dat I ever wanted to though, I’ve never been able to stand him-“ Remy gave Spencer a stern look, as if to try and reinforce his point- “since then. He called me up the day before yesterday, askin’ to see me. So, I came down here to tell him to piss off, but instead ran into a handsome FBI genius dat looked like he needed a hand.”

Remy finished with a lazy smirk at him, but Spencer could read his concern. Cocky but charming was a mask he was familiar with; especially working in the FBI, which, as bad as it sounded, had a higher proportion of ‘alpha’ male personalities than anything else. As such, it was a familiar attitude; Remy, however, seemed much more earnest behind his, so Spencer was confident he was telling the truth. 

However, Spencer couldn’t tell if he meant handsome the way Garcia said it, or handsome handsome. Unlike most exchanges though, he wasn’t left reeling and confused. It was more comfortable, like when his team smiled and teased him. Although the heat in his cheeks probably meant he was not taking Remy’s words like he took Garcia’s.

“Yes… thank you, for that, by the way. He didn’t seem the type to accept backing down, or leave his victims alone after the mugging.” Creed defiantly was sadistic on some level, most likely a narcissist too. He wondered if he should ask Remy, however that would lead him to babble about the various definitions, but, God, he could barely walk, never mind talk for that long right now. He would ask and babble later. Later?

“Y’r welcome, cher,” Remy chuckled, “and y’r right, he’s not, but you were handling him well enough y’rself, Victor’s known for only backing down when there are… dieu, big numbers against him, and too much fire power. But y’ had him backin’ down with just y’r gun and y’r words- I’ve never seen anyone do that before, Penny.”

Spencer was happy for the praise, and apparently his biology thought so too, as his heart rate increased slightly. However, he was completely unsure how to respond to it. 

“That is what we’re trained for.” But Spencer made sure his words were soft and he smiled at him. 

Remy smiled back, with honest emotion that Spencer couldn’t decipher, and that warm, peaceful silence carried them to his door.

Remy watched Spencer sway slightly as he tried to unlock his door, concern scratching away in his thoughts.


	3. sympathetic stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still might need editing, if you see anything, let me know :)

“Yes, so, er, thank you, again. I’m going to be calling this in when I get in-” Spencer had said this before; he knew he had- “so, someone will probably contact you, to get a witness account.”

“I’m sure they will, cher.” Remy had already thought of this; between living on the streets and his work in New Orleans, Remy had more than his fair share of experience with the police. The idiots had never managed to actually prove a thing, though.

It was like Spencer had some kind of freaking degree in subtext though, because he turned to look at Remy with one eyebrow slightly raised and a (seriously?) small smirk playing in the corners of his lips. 

“Don’t y’ be giving poor Remy here that look cher, Remy’s as innocent as a bebe, he is. At some points, anyway.” Remy looked at Spencer, managing to multitask (trying to, and failing to) unlock the door and shoot him a disbelieving look. He had to make sure he got inside, at least, surely? “Spencer, please don’t take no offence, but are y’ ok, really? Y’ can barely stay up on y’r feet and dat’s the third time y’ve missed the lock there, Penny.”

Spencer hesitated, pausing his fumbling with his keys. And a pain crept onto his face.

“What got you into this state here, Penny?”

Letting out a breath, he turned to face Remy, and seemed to crumble a bit.

“I’ve just had a series of misfortunes for quite a while now, but I’m fine, I’ll get over it, that’s what I do.”

Remy thought about what he had seen of Spencer so far. He can barely walk straight he’s so tired and he looks so sad when he thinks no one can see. He faced Victor without much visible fear, like it was a situation he’d been in a hundred times before. He was smart, unbelievably so, and that set him apart. He was also an FBI agent, a skilled one too, and so had probably, no definitely, seen things that you would want to pretend never existed. 

Remy empathized. 

Cautiously, he rested his hand on Spencer’s arm, remembering how hesitant he had been with contact.

“Do y’ have a friend of talk to, Penny?”

“There’s my team, and I love them and trust them, always, but… when they’re part of the problem, there’s not much I can say.” Spencer hesitated and seemed to be working up his nerve. “All of them have someone, family, to turn to, at the end of the day. There’s nothing I’m feeling that hasn’t been said or guessed at by them at some point or the other. But I- I can’t just… I won’t go and- and break in front of them for something I should be able to handle! Can handle! Can… I mean, I just… I can’t, I-I...”

Remy met Spencer’s eyes.

“Do y’ need a friend to talk to right now, Penny?”

Spencer just stayed wide-eyed and confused, turning his head down to the floor. 

“Tell y’ what, mon cher, I’ll come in with y’ and wait with y’ for the police. Y’r about to drop off any second. Then, when y’r a bit more awake, I’ll listen to what y’ need listening to. An’ it won’t be unequal, Remy here will swap you, okay? Story for story.” Why the hell had he said that? There were things no one, not even Jean-Luc, had Remy wanted to tell. Besides, Remy was fine. He was. He was moving on, he… 

Remy needed an ear for a bit, too. He really, really did. Christ, even offering to help a stranger was a selfish action, wasn’t it? But Spencer… he understood, Remy was sure he did.

His keys finally turned in the door and Spencer wondered where the logic was in letting a sympathetic stranger into his home while he was very near to passing out and briefly remembered roughly 38 different cases that started in the same way. Then again, he bet that the unsubs in those cases hadn’t agreed to wait for the police arrival. He hadn’t actually phoned the police yet, though. Spencer also didn’t believe that Remy was actually a killer, but someone in a similar position to himself. The statistics were not in his favour, however. And how many times were they wrong?

No, Spencer thought, he defiantly wouldn’t have nodded if he was thinking straight, therefore he wasn’t, and should really do something. His eyes were blacking out at the corners and his ears thrummed. His entire weight was leaning into the door and his mind was going a startlingly blank white that Spencer was equally terrified of and welcomed. The last  
thing he saw was panicking, wonderfully concerned eyes, and he heard a New Orleans accented voice talking to emergency services.

Oh look, thought Spencer as he hit the ground, the statistics were wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

Remy prided himself on being prepared for anything and, with that, being able to have a level of control and ability to get things sorted… when properly motivated. Even in the face of his sketchier traits.

As such, in the one and a half hours Spencer was unconscious, Remy had phoned the ambulance to take Spencer to hospital, phoned the police to give them his account with their promise to take Spencer’s tomorrow, if he was rested. This was done while simultaneously convincing the nurses he was a dear, old friend of Spencer’s, and could stay in his room, even if he wasn’t family. This role as the ‘devil-of-a-charmer-who-was-responsible-for-that-poor-thin-boy’ (as he heard the nurses say) allowed him to endure a frightening phone call with a deceivingly pleasant sounding women, who referred to herself only as the ‘gorgeous-omnipotent-goddess-of-all.’ She would also be arriving shortly, to check up on her ‘genius boy’ before the rest of the team needed her again. 

So, waiting for this goddess seemed like the best course of action for Remy. He wasn’t going to leave Spencer alone for sure.

While he was waiting though, he decided to bribe/flirt/charm his way into knowing why Spencer collapsed.

Ten minutes and one slapped face later (he was far too tired to be as smooth as he should) he had learnt that Spencer was extremely sleep deprived, malnourished and underweight. This had led his body to crash.

This made Remy irrationally annoyed towards Spencer’s team- how in hell had they worked by him and not seen this? This also made him very irrationally angry towards Spencer, who he had now known longer when he was unconscious than when he was awake. All in all, Remy was very irrationally angry. Yet, he remained with Spencer; he would want someone with him when he woke up, even if he didn’t know it. This was when Remy would chew him out for neglecting himself like this. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait much longer before a confused-sounding Spencer piped up.

“Remy?”

“Hello cher. We are at de hospital, have been for nearly 2 hours. Police have bin phoned, one of y’r team is one de way and y’ are ridiculous.”

“Excuse me?”

“Which part, mon ami?”

“I’ll go with the ridiculous part.”

“Oui, ridiculous because, y’ have gotten y’rself into a god-awful state. Y’r sleep deprived, malnourished and underweight- what? D’y’ just forget to eat?”

“Occasionally,” Spencer fell back onto the bed closing his eyes, “I don’t mean to; also the underweight part is not my fault. According to doctors I’ve been underweight for most of my life.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll be coming back to that later, right now, mon ami, y’r have y’rself another visitor.” Remy craned around to look out the window as Penelope walked in.

Penelope made an entrance even when she didn’t plan to. It was just a part of her personality, like her cat videos; people just had to look at her because she walked in like she was bringing her own sunlight. Which matched her current style very well; her dress was sunflower yellow with random poster-paint-bright designs. Her hair was an equally bright blonde with vivid pink and blue streaks, which curled around her face.

“Junior-G man, what’s wrong? You’ve given me a heart attack, all I heard was some random bloke with a cute-as-hell accent telling me you’d collapsed.”

“Penelope, that would have been Remy,” he gestured to the wide-eyed Cajun, “and I have no doubt that you have already hacked into the hospital records and so already know everything.”

“Are you implying that I am a hacker?”

“Yes.”

“And omniscient?” Penelope cast a smirk at Remy, who remembered her phrasing one the phone call.

“Yes.” 

“You’re right as always, so are you going to expla-“

“Mademoiselle,” Remy slinked towards her in a fluid motion, and stopped to bow gracefully and take her hand. “We have not yet been introduced in a way that my manners would allow, ma déesse, je m'excuse. But perhaps we should give poor Penny there a moment to wake up before we interrogate him, no?”

Penelope blushed spectacularly and replied in French, “bien sûr, ma chérie.”

Remy was thrilled at finding a speaker of his first language and led Penelope out the room, but before she left, she turned back to Spencer, who was both amused and…. (and what? Don’t think it) at their exchange and mouthed ‘penny’ at him, with a wink and a discrete thumbs-up. The strange, unknown feeling that left a hard knot in his stomach vanished. 

Spencer did not find this a promising sign.

“How long has he been like this?” Remy spoke politely, but firmly and somewhat accusingly. 

Penelope sighed, “I don’t know… I really,” she groaned and looked behind her, as if to check Spencer wasn’t following her. “Reid’s got this thing where he closes off for a bit, we don’t see it until it becomes enough of a problem for it to affect him daily, and God, there’s been a lot. More than we realise, most of the time, he’s just so innocent and… unsure about basic emotions and that, so it’s easy to forget just how much he cares and how much it affects him.”

“That’s not good enough.” 

Penelope was gobsmacked; honestly, she had been speaking out loud mainly to herself; venting to the man in her worry for Reid. But just how dare he? Spencer is one of her babies.

“Excuse me? You’ve known him how long, oh yes, less than a day!” She suddenly looked very dangerous, “what are you implying? We are his family! I-“ there was a sharp buzzing from her phone and   
Morgan’s name popped up; it was code red without any jokes or one-liners. They had actually been pulled back into New York from Alabama to work this new case, which had, as far as Penelope knew, never happened before. So, she couldn't ignore it.

Penelope cursed.

“Listen, I’ve got to… crap, Spencer!” She wheeled round and stuck her head into his room; he was up and fully dressed again. “Spencer, I’m so sorry, it’s just-“

“Don’t worry, Garcia.” He smiled, “It’s a bit strange to be on the reverse side of the call, though.”

“Must be how my cute little chauvinist feels when Savanah gets called into surgery.” There was another beep. “Okay! Call me if you need anything and I’ll bring cupcakes when I’m free. Bye, my genius duckling.”

And with that she was off.

“Well, that was- where do y’ think y’r goin’, cher?”

Spencer was already up and standing, grabbing his bag.

“The bus to the subway leaves in 13 minutes.”

“Come on then.” 

“Oh, erm, you don’t need to, I mean-“

“Cher, at least let me see y’ home.” Remy cut across him.

Spencer considered Remy, he was clearly not going to budge but seemed like the type to concede if Spencer really pushed it. However, he did manage to get him to hospital and then stay with him. Spencer wondered if it was guilt as Victor had planned to meet Remy there originally, or if it was pure concern. Eventually, he just nodded.  
As they checked out, a nurse walked pass and Remy swung his arm around Spencer’s waist, as if to hold him up in a familiar gesture.

“Ah, Mr.LeBeau, I am glad to see your friend’s awake, so maybe my nurses will recover from the drama you put them through.” The motherly nurse walked off, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not sure which part of the exchange raises the most questions.”

“They wouldn’t let a stranger in with them, so Remy became y’r lifelong friend who is very concerned for you; Remy may of also tried to persuade several nurses to update me on how y’ were doin.”

He said all this completely unashamed and grinning, so Spencer decided to go with it.

When they got back, Remy was hesitating, not knowing what exactly to do, or if he was allowed into his flat. Spencer solved it for him.

“Does the offer to be each other’s ear to vent to still stand?” Spencer was particularly proud it came out as a fully formed sentence, and sounded light, not desperate. 

“Oui, cher, it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled to write this chapter quite a bit, so if anyone has any suggestions to improve it it would be appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5: Vents and backstories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The build up of Spencer's stress talked through and Remy's background revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long update- between exams and this chapter not being my best, I've struggled to get it up.  
> Any suggestions are welcome!
> 
> After this I'll be working on Remy and Spencer healing fluff, the serial killer that's forced the BAU team away from their other case, and a Remy-meets-the-team chapter :D Expect protective outbursts x
> 
> \+ I've tried to do a human version of Remy's back story, but I'm not that familiar with it, if there are any blunders, please let me know :) x

When Remy walked into Spencer’s flat his first thought was _books_. Everywhere, not just lining the wall-width shelves, but stacked in corners; he’s already tripped on two and has sat on another. All of them were thick, worn and had a distinct old, cultured look. Then there were the random bits and bobs scattered across the old-timey furniture, like a rainbow slinky next to a model of a human, or a jar of jellybeans next a miniature rocket ship. At the kitchen when he went to get his drink it was _what the hell_? There was an abysmal amount of food; edible stuff even less. Remy began to see the ‘malnourished’ part.

At the moment though they were on opposite ends of the sofa; hands curled around their glasses and fidgeting awkwardly. Remy thought it would be awkward if no one spoke soon, but Spencer seemed to be lost in his head a bit. He sighed and put his glass on the table; it was time to talk before they both lost their nerve. As he did, he noticed a letter from the Bennington Sanatorium, addressed ‘my dear son.’

“So, cher, who’ll start?”

Spencer gulped, looked at the letter, and spoke. He had too many strikes against his mental health to not take advantage of the chance.

……….

“What father does that? Leaves an eight-year-old to care for a deteriorating paranoid schizophrenic?”

“Ah, I’m sorry cher, but he’s a connard… how did that go? Looking after y’r mére?”

“Well, as much as her bad days scared me, I’d never been closer to my mother. I researched everything I could and she stayed relatively stable; I didn’t have friends really, but that stopped bothering me after a few years. I didn’t relate to anyone my age and those older than me were uncomfortable.”

“Lonely… it sounds lonely,” he met Spencer’s eyes, “even though y’r mére was der, it’s not the same. Did you ever meet someone nice t’ y’r?”

“In secondary school the people who didn’t bully me either ignored or were civil with me; it was when I went to college- I was 13- that I met Ethan, he was a year younger than most in their first year, so knew roughly what I was going through. He understood more social graces than I did and we were always in competition over something. It was fun.”

Spencer went deeper explaining what it was like at college and his friendship with Ethan. It was happier for a bit, until Spencer went on to talk about how Dianna relapsed completely and Spencer had to have her committed, not long after that Ethan dropped out of college completely. Whether it was Remy’s gentle questioning, his comfortable aura, or his insightful comments, Spencer ended up talking more about this period in his life than he told even Maeve. It all came out, the bullying, loneliness, fear for Dianne, for being on his own. Even how every academic achievement felt like a slap in the face to his father; even how his Asperger’s left him so confused when interacting with others, back before he learnt how to use a mouth to brain filter.

Remy was comforting in his reaction to each revelation, except for the goal post incident. That left him swearing and ridiculously angry towards his previous classmates; Spencer didn’t quite know what to do, even Maeve, who had the most volatile reaction, didn’t take his… incident, so personally. The “I’m so sorry that happened to you; it’s awful,” reaction was the most common to bullying. Spencer had never seen anyone so effected by something that happened to him almost twenty years ago.

Eventually though, the tables were turned.

…........

“Remy, I am… truly amazed, there are so many people I’ve met on the job who haven’t been able to go through that. They have barely been able to beat foster care, never mind living on the streets when things got bad. That is remarkable.”

“Ah cher, y’r makin’ me blush,”

Spencer knew he was teasing; even if Spencer couldn’t see that he had no physical reaction, Remy had this tone when he wasn’t serious.

Remy thought for a moment, gearing himself up to talk about the ten years he spent juggling foster homes and, when it got truly bad, the streets. “I… can’t quite describe it right, t’ be honest cher. I were growin’ up, with no one lookin’ out f’ me, an’ seein’ all dese other kids, just as scarred. Course, dere were some nice families, truly, who just wanted to help. But somethin’ always happened, mainly some connard in an office who switched us round. But, when I was ten, Jean Luc found me- pickin’ his pocket, true- but he took me an’ cared f’ me an’ kept me safe. It something that everyone needs an’ no one knows just how much livin’ without it costs y’. No one admits it, but dey look down on y’, as if y’r lesser, when y’r on de streets, even when y’r only children. Jen-Luc didn’t.” Remy, stared, lost in his memories. How, strong, how brilliant his family had seemed; taking him and loving him. Even with his heart tuned to distrust, how quickly he loved them, saw them almost as if they had a halo. “I miss them, so much, cher. Dieu, ils me manquent.” He missed that haloed family who raised him up and away from the streets; why had it gone so wrong?

He felt Spencer gently place his hand on his arm and started. Dieu, he hadn’t meant to say that much to him; he hadn’t talked like this since he was a child to Tante.

“Thanks, cher.”

Spencer was chewing on his lips, looking at Remy’s eyes, which, with a jump, he realised were shining. He seemed to be debating on whether to say something, eventually he withdrew his arm and said, “the, the fastest way to release o-oxytocin is a hug of at least 20 seconds, which lowers blood pressure and cortisol, the stress hormone.”

Remy, who was still coming out of his head, only half heard it, to the relief (and nothing else) of Spencer.

……..

Tobias and the resultant drug addiction weren’t hard for him to talk about, despite never talking to his team in any depth about it; when he finally decided to get outside help, he went through his experience with his support group. He was used then, to listing off his torture, how the drugs affected him and how he struggled to get over it. How the dilaudid offered him an escape from mind and memory. And, the worse part, how he struggled with murdering Tobias. He could recite the entire event with changing the tone of his voice, or flinching in his expression. Remy couldn’t stand that. The only emotion Spencer expressed throughout the entire thing was when he asked the one question that no one else had, that he didn’t know how to recite.

“Who did you shoot?”

“Raphael, it-it was him who I shot, but it didn’t stay that way. I went an-and moved the knife away, but it was Tobias talking to me at the end. He was just a horribly abused boy, a victim, and he died. I killed him. I even stole the drugs from his pocket.”

Spencer was stubbornly not looking at him, or anything. His arm with the almost unnoticeable track scars was uncomfortably itchy; it felt like the arm was twitching, even though he could see it was still. It was spreading up, causing every inch across his face felt disturbingly itchy.

“So, oxytocin, huh?”

And then Remy was hugging him. Spencer counted 22 seconds for the duration of the hug. In order for oxytocin to be released efficiently, the hug must last 20 seconds. He wondered if it was luck or if Remy also knew the statistic, because he held on for 23 seconds before pulling away. It didn’t make Spencer think of the germs spreading or the social impacts and implications of the action; it was just comfort. And it was so very much needed.

“Y’r so very strong, Spencer, y’ pulled y’rself out o’ dat. Y’ got y’rself better. Y’ lived through all dat hurt and made y’rself stronger. Don’t be ashamed for dat.” Remy whispered in his hair.

…….

It continued in trades after that. Spencer’s three bullet wounds in exchange for Remy’s fights and beatings.

Remy told Spencer of his first love, Belladonna, who was in a mirroring position in her crime organisation to what Remy was in his father’s. They had fallen for each other, hard and fast, in that way only young people can. They were even set up for marriage, to the extreme approval of everyone, hoping it would ease the tensions between the rival groups. Unfortunately, Belladonna’s brother did not agree. So strong was his hatred of the union that he stopped the wedding day and there, in front of everyone, fought Remy. The brother came off worse- how worse, Remy couldn’t say- but he was successful. No one, even Bella, would accept Remy into their family, having hurt and shamed one of their own so bad. Jean-Luc barely managed to prevent any retaliation from them; but his family knew that New Orleans was dangerous to him now; to go back would put him at more risk than even Jean-Luc was capable of protecting him from.

The rest of the people in Jean-Luc’s ‘group’ had been quick to turn on Remy; it was an easy fix and Remy, who was the most moral out of them all, had always made them edgy.

“Regretfully, cher, dat wasn’t de end t’ m’ life in crime.”

A man by the name of Nathaniel Essex, the current employer of Victor Creed, had found Remy as he left New Orleans, helping him get out safely and giving him a place to stay. All because Jean-Luc had helped him once. It had seemed perfect to Remy- a true godsend- and he had no trouble believing that this man also felt that unconditional loyalty that Jean-Luc inspired in the most unlikely of people.

It was only when Remy offered any assistance (Spencer could see how Remy’s voice twisted around the words) to the man, that he felt Essex revealed some of his true colours. But Remy still had a sense of duty to repay him. All he asked for was a list of people; thieves, thugs and such. Also, the ones to avoid; the ones that spread hell. The ones that would be loyal; always. Just to give him a better insight into all sides of the business. Victor Creed had been among them.

Remy did.

The next week, he heard that an unknown criminal group had attacked some random community; it was poor, but heavily in debt to Essex (Spencer felt his stomach knot as he remembered the articles). Remy knew at once what had happened, but, by the time he got there, nearly everyone had been injured or worse. The most he had been able to do was look after a little girl and try to keep them all safe as the paramedics arrived. He didn’t know who out of the list had been chosen, but he knew that the police had all their names.

After that, he had spent years travelling, gaining degrees in Fine Arts and Art History. This led him to meet Ororo, his ‘adopted’ sister and get employed by Xavier’s School. The Professor, Charles Xavier (Spencer startled at the name; he was incredibly well-known, both academically and as a leading philanthropist and speaker in world-wide equal rights) had offered Remy a second chance, so hired him as the on-call substitute and teaching assistant for art.

There, he had met Ann-Marie, or Rogue, as she nicknamed herself.

Spencer tried not to profile the mental...significance...of calling herself that.

They had, he thinks, fallen for each other. But, their relationship, which spanned years, was one of the most confusing things Remy had ever tried to do. They were extremely volatile years. When their relationship was good, it was brilliant. When it was bad, it was horrific. Sometimes they thought they would get married, other times they thought they would kill each other.

Around year two, Remy realised he was using her. It was a chance for normality and companionship; a person to vent his frustrations on.

A couple of months later he realised that she was using him just as much.

Neither one of them tried to change it.

Remy continued his story with unconcealed shame in his voice. It went on for several more years, but, towards the end of it, even Remy didn’t know if they were together or not; if they were on speaking terms; if today was a day they were meant to like each other again. Even the people in the house, who previously either loved, hated, or laughed at the couple were sick of it. When Remy’s past came to light, she had turned on him. She felt betrayed, despite how unhealthy parts of their time together had been, she honestly thought that they trusted each other more than that. They had told each other some of their deepest secrets, but… that… wasn’t something he could share with her. Even worse, she hadn’t thought that was the type of mistake Remy would make; it didn’t fit her image of him.

That fight was the one of the worse moments of Remy’s life. They dragged up buried hurts and threw them in each other's faces'. They took every moment they were ashamed of, every secret they had confided to their lover, and twisted it back at them. Remy's cut-off point had been when she laughed at role with Essex; making him feel every inch the monster he had felt when he saw the beaten innocents. There was no going back after that. No way to recover what was lost. Not like they actually tried... it was hard for Remy and Rogue to feel anything vaguely romantic for the she-devil/ swamp rat respectively, when all was said and done.

Though his friends had supported him, Remy couldn’t move past it. So, he and a school counsellor (Logan- or ‘wolfie’, as Remy named him) had left to start a pub in Washington, where some of Logan’s old friends had given him a deal on a building.

This brought them up to the present. Remy was left, every line in his body tense, though outwardly, he looked completely relaxed. He was ready to jump up and run at the slightest word. Another part of himself was unbelievably relieved. He had told Spencer more than he had told anyone. From the betrayal and abandonment he felt being exiled, his near-suicidal grief from Essex, right up to how much Rogue could hurt him, where he thought no one else could. With each word, he had felt a hard, black part of his soul, loosen it’s grip around his heart. Like he could breathe a bit better now his grieves were shared, even if it was to a stranger. Now all he had to do was wait for judgement.

Spencer, however, wasn’t disgusted. He had been in his job long enough to know that right and wrong was an infinite spectrum of shades of grey. He had seen many people still lost in sorrow for a past mistake, including himself and his team. Listening to Remy, he just felt pain for what he’d been through and the overwhelming desire to heal his hurts. So, Spencer tried his best. He didn’t judge him and tried to comfort him. Mainly, he tried to make sure Remy saw the places where he was wrong- where it wasn’t his fault, but Remy thought that it was anyway. From experience, he knew that that wasn’t healthy and could spiral rapidly. Remy meanwhile, was in complete shock. Even Logan hadn’t been able to hold in swears or that flash of anger when Remy spoke of his mistakes. But, here, Spencer- _FBI Spencer_ \- was so, incredibly, kind. Maybe it was the profiler in him knowing he was regretful, but all he did was make Remy feel better. Under the compassionate brown eyes, Remy felt parts of himself heal.

It ended with them both laughing; how, Remy wasn’t quite sure, even though he was sure every part of their conversation was branded in his brain. But, there they were, laughing. It was him laughing, such a contrast to the hurt man he saw earlier, that made him realise that Spencer still hadn’t explained how he got into such a state.

“It’s everything. So much has happened recently and we’re always thrown into something else before I get chance to work through it. None of my team have picked up on it and I just haven’t been able to talk. Between it all, it’s just led to my… crash, for lack of better word… and malnourishment.”

“Why don’t y’ tell Remy here what everthin’ is?”

Spencer was left trying to explain how strangely cases can affect you. The ones that left him angry like Owen and Samantha. The ones that left him sad like Nathan and Ryan. With his eidetic memory he was forced to deal with it all; he couldn’t forget it. There was no escape apart from dilaudid. He even spoke about Maeve- properly; he spoke about losing his first love, his first equal. Remy had his on tragedies in love, so could emphasize to a degree, but that was… awful. He couldn’t believe how someone this loving could have lost their own love. There was no justice, no reason. He heard how, because of Maeve, Spencer had thought that it was possible, for the first time, to have children, a family. Remy saw Spencer, just for a minute, as a dad, and knew that those children would’ve been- no, will be, the luckiest children alive. Remy’s heart broke to realise that Spencer had not only lost a love, but the hope in an entire future.

Eventually, however, it led to his team. Remy had asked what if his team had helped him and Spencer…just… exploded. It was, upon reflection, his longest and most embarrassing ramble, excluding his 13 minute babble to Chester Hardwick, which was just factual.

“My team… I love them, truly I do, they’re my family and I don’t want it said that- that I, I don’t. But, they’re just so… isolating? Neglectful? No, that’s wrong. I’m not their responsibility. It’s just… I know, this sounds so bad, but when one of them is hurting, it hurts me and I want to do whatever I can to help them. But, me, I’m just so easy to skip over. My team, they… they’re the people I’m closest too. I have Ethan, but I haven’t seen in years, and my mother. Without my team… I’m, I…”

“Why don’t y’ tell m’ about dem, cher?”

“O-Okay. I first met Jason Gideon when I was twenty and he encouraged me to join the FBI. Well, he was the best, he and Rossi basically founded the BAU. Elle, she was part of the original team too, as well as Morgan, JJ, Hotch and Garcia. Eventually, there was also Emily and Rossi, then Alex and now Kate. There were others, too, but those, they are always my family.

Elle… she was the first to leave. There was this case, the unsub shot her, in her home, and it, it just, hurt her so much. She nearly died. It affected her so badly that, after, she made some really bad choices in cases. To the point where she shot the unsub William Lee, and though she said it was self-defence, no one is really sure. She retired after that, I- I haven’t really seen her since. And I knew she came back to work too soon and I saw how she was struggling, but whatever I said didn’t work and she left us anyway.

Jason was the next to leave. He just couldn’t see the point in the work we did anymore; we had a series of bad cases and an unsub targeting him, specifically. He left to find himself again. He knew I would be that one to look for him first and left me a note. That’s all.

At least it was a goodbye. Though, I always thought it was ironic that the two father figures in my life left with a note.

But I didn’t see or hear from him again until we investigated his murder.” – Remy startled- “Gideon was gone for seven years, no word or anything. Then we had to find his killer. And he was just… lying there… with three bullet wounds. Rossi was the one who helped me the most. He’s been doing that lately- since Maeve, really. He knew Gideon the longest, so he empathised with me the most. But it was hard; for seven years I at least knew he was out there- an-and he might have even come back. Do you know Gideon was the only one to talk to me about the drug abuse? Yes, he did it in his own, indirect way. But he was still the only one. Some of them snapped at me for my behaviour- withdrawal at work is… not pleasant- but I still don’t know if I’m relieved no one confronted me or not. If you can believe it, I saw Ethan for the first time in years and he talked to me straight away.

World renowned experts in human behaviour, but they…

Anyway, JJ, she’s basically my older sister. I’m her son’s godfather. Just like Morgan’s like my older brother. I was really close to Emily and Alex, too, though in a different way. Emily is a best friend, completely, but Alex was so much like another, another mother. It was startling. Rossi is like an Italian grandmother at times, though one with ‘style’ as he would say. Garcia is everyone’s mother, sister and best friend, all at once. She’s truly unique. You can’t ever stay mad at her- because she is the only one who always, always tries to help you, even if it’s just a random hug if she didn’t know what to say. Hotch, Hotch is the boss, but he’s also the group leader, but also the one who will laugh and record you when you’re doing something stupid.

I can’t blame Hotch for not saying anything about the drug abuse. If he acknowledged it he would have to report it; everyone else in the team wouldn’t be held responsible for not reporting it, but Hotch would have.

Emily and Alex both left. Alex was the first to say an actual goodbye; I got shot in the neck on a case when I pulled her out the way- she was trying to drag another officer to safety. But she stayed with me and helped me home and said goodbye, in her own way, but it was still a face to face resolution. I keep in contact with her more than anyone. She doesn’t realise it, but when she’s talking fast she’s accidently called me ‘son’ before. I still have her badge. Emily had been a part of a CIA mission previously that led an unsub with powerful connections to hunt her. She was badly injured and then faked her death- only Hotch and JJ knew- to keep her safe. I went to JJ’s house every day for ten weeks, crying, because I’d lost my friend and never got to say goodbye- at all. When Emily came back, I was so mad. With them all, but JJ the most, it faded, but I’ve never felt more removed from the group. Especially with what JJ said.”

“What did dis JJ say, Penny?”

“She asked me if I was mad with her because my profiling fell through and I didn’t see that they were lying at the hospital.”

Remy blinked once.

Then again.

“She said what?”

Spencer took it literally and repeated himself word-for-word.

“I couldn’t believe it. Nothing in my life had ever been further from my academic abilities. It made me think of how my team- how JJ- must see me, if she thought that that was my biggest concern. It’s as if just because I’m normally confused on how to express them, or protect myself with statistics, they forget my emotions are under batter to- or forget that I really, really don’t know how to deal with them.”

Remy could understand that- from what Spencer has said, he seems to be a walking contrast; his upbringing has left him emotionally younger, but his experiences have shot him forward. A bit like the eleventh doctor; appears so young but is so much older.

It didn’t stop Remy from feeling a great swell of anger against these people that Spencer puts so much trust in. Stopping his tale wouldn’t help now, though, so he resigned himself to mental swearing and balling up his fist under the cushion until further notice.

“Are dey nice to y’, cher?”

“Pardon?”

Spencer was wide-eyed at the question.

“You’ve been hurtin’ now, everythin’s bin catchin’ up with y’, have dey helped?”

“Hotch walked in on me earlier- I was in a… a bit of a state. That’s when he told me to take the rest of the week off.”

“Well, dat’s somethin’, I guess.”

Spencer thought for a second and smiled. At Remy’s curious glance, he shook his head slightly, but answered, “it’s nice to be able to talk without getting told to stop. In the job, I often get cut-off or told to get to the point because of the time constraints, which is understandable, but I don’t realise I’m doing it.”

“Still, my friend, their manners!” Remy exclaimed, trying to use his most proper voice. Before he had a chance to think if Spencer would get it, he was laughing. Remy managed to make out _that-does-not-suit-you!_ Between the chuckles.

Laughing and lighter-hearted, the pair just stopped for a minute and smiled. And if they were smiling at each other, no one had to know.


	6. Chapter six: Bonding time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy and Spencer bonding fluff chapter :) x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (forgive me if I cannot write fluff) x

When Spencer first woke up, it was 6:36 in the morning. His phone was mercifully silent but he’d only been asleep for… 2 hours and an unknown amount of minutes. It had been in the early morning when they had got out of hospital and they’d talked for longer than Spencer realized. Spencer realized that he was probably awake because of the uncomfortable and unfamiliar pose he was in- mainly, there was a large weight settled on top of him, which was breathing. Remy shifted slightly, spreading his mass out evenly and it became infinitely more comfortable. In sleep, Remy and Spencer had moved so they were both lying on the sofa, with Spencer’s head on the arm rest and his feet hitting the other. Remy’s legs were bent up, wrapping around Spencer’s, and his head was just below his ribcage, towards the left, while his arms flopped randomly about. It could be the sleep deprivation, but Spencer was utterly comfortable. With the position, the contact, everything. That itself was so unusual that Spencer was floundering to what to do.

 

Remy, almost like his could sense that was Spencer hesitant, brought his arms up and around his chest, pulling him close. Spencer knew it was an unconscious action, but still felt happier and as he felt his eyes closing, he whispered, “you don’t think many people care for you Remy, the real you, but you’re wrong. You’ve told me your faults and mistakes, but I care about you all the more. I’ll care for you.”

 

……….

 

Remy stirred briefly, considered cursing, but decided he was close enough to sleep to pass it by. Spencer was incredibly comfy and Remy brought him closer; he had too. Not just for him, though the warm weight consoled him, but Spencer would be mortified if he thought that the contact was unrequited. It was a good enough excuse for Remy to pull Spencer to him as much as he could. Settled over his heart, he drifted back off to sleep.

 

“…. But I care about you all the more. I’ll care for you.” The low murmur could just be heard over the _ba-bum_ of his heart beat; the rhythms matched.

 

_Ba-bum. I’ll care. Ba-bum. For you._

 

_I’ll care for you._

 

**I’ll care f’r y’ too.**

 

One long thin-too thin- arm slid under his own, stopping at his shoulder blade, while the other curled around the back of Remy’s neck.

 

Coffee was a shared addiction. Not just between the two, no, Remy learnt that 78% of people drank coffee in America, as Spencer told him. He also told him this was a tiny fall from 79% last year. And that ‘coffee was a language within itself,’ from Jackie Chan.

 

Remy had never been happier to hear such random things. Knowing that Spencer if often cut-off or told to shut up was enough to stop Remy from ever saying that, plus watching Spencer light up and flap about, wanting to share information and trying to compress it into words, was too funny to miss. However, his interest was genuine. It made him ask about Jackie Chan and Spencer admitted he was happily oblivious that, apart from a few subjects- sci-fy, he knew nothing about pop culture. It was also very useful; it made him consider adding coffee to the menu at the bar- proper coffee, though, not the sludge that Spencer has.

 

“I’ve developed immunity to bad coffee; I can tolerate anything due to prolonged exposure to police station coffee machines. Providing it has enough sugar.”

 

“Dat ain’t no excuse Remy’s tolerating. Y’ don’t have t’ buy it, do y’? I’m takin’ y’ shoppin’.”

 

And Spencer looked so terrified that Remy practically glowed.

 

……..

 

Time is relative. That had never been so true, as Spencer had never had a day go so long but so quick at the same time. That described shopping with Remy; a painful task made hilarious to the point that he never wanted it to end. Remy’s over the top flirting prompted some of the strangest reactions, from ‘are you kidding’ faces to exchanges that would make Garcia blush- it certainly made Spencer. Spencer’s rambles also had a similar reaction, but ranged from the ‘are you even real?’ faces to nerdathon rants. That’s what they were- Spencer _did not_ fanboy. No matter _what_ Remy said.

 

Another thing was that, as two people gifted at talking, they could cover _a lot_ during one day. Hence, not only did they swap the nice stories- barbeques on the Xavier estate; group dinners at Rossi’s- but also the funny ones. Spencer had always thought he had a gift for ending up in strange circumstances, but it was nothing compared to Remy. One memorable story started with, “so, I woke up wit’ dis freakin’ monk on m’ one side an’ an actually drunk Cyke…” which wasn’t the most alarming, but stuck out at Spencer simply because he didn’t know how Remy could convince such strict people to ‘let dere hair down, is all, cher.”

 

Spencer also learnt that Remy was a food snob and far too fashion-aware for him to ‘ _jus’ have good taste’._ He gained also far too much pleasure in making Spencer buy an unholy amount of food.

 

Remy was always moving, always doing something, and Spencer could relate. He had thoughts and ideas exploding out his brain, so it either came out in an excited mush, or was diffused out by spinning on his chair, or something else that gained raised eyebrows. Only Remy had endless energy exploding out of him; like he was naturally a step faster than everyone else. Spencer thought that was probably how he could drink so much in his stories; his metabolism probably destroyed the alcohol before it could settle in his stomach.

 

So, when they passed an arcade in the mall that Spencer had successfully avoided for ten years, the two of them, both child-like in their way, gravitated towards it like magnets.

 

“What o’ earth are y’ doin’, cher?” Spluttered Remy as Spencer missed his third basket in a row.

 

“The diameter of the basket is barely bigger than that of the ball!” The defence was weak even to Spencer, so he was biting is lip in an effort not to laugh and appear serious.

 

Remy did not fall for it. “Uh-huh, dat might work, ‘cept y’ not even hittin’ de basket!”

 

“…co-ordination isn’t my thing?”

 

“Non, cher, it’s not,” but Remy’s smile was so wide and happy Spencer knew he was joking, “and, though I don’t doubt y’ make up f’ it elsewhere-“ Remy’s eyebrows waggled- “how de hell did y’ get through de academy?”

 

“Allowances may have been made… after I proved I could sit any exam in under an hour and still pass it.”

 

“Now _dat_ I believe. Dieu, dat must o’ been borin’ as hell, waitin’ around f’ de end o’ de test.”

 

“That is why I am a magician.”

 

“…y’ do magic?” Remy’s face was unreadable.

 

“… and physics magic.”

 

“Show me! Right now- c’mon cher, pleeaseeee-“

 

Spencer wasn’t a show-off, but he couldn’t pass up a chance to make rockets explode. Luckily, his messenger bag was exploding with ten years’ worth of unmoved clutter; including three film canisters. On some level, he did want to show off a little, he quickly ran out to buy what he needed and set most of it up, lining up the row of fizzling canisters just as Remy came back with some drinks.

 

Seeing them moving, he abandoned the drinks to run closer; over the years, Spencer had mastered how to get optimum distance, so stopped Remy several metres away- where they should land.

 

There were three simultaneous pops, and the three canisters shot towards Remy, leaving a trail of blue, red and green smoke behind them. Spencer may have put a little dye in them, just to make them a bit more eye-catching.

 

Remy whooped as he was wacked on the head, grinning from ear to ear.

 

Unfortunately, the security guards started towards them at this point. Both shot on their innocent faces and discretely walked towards the automatic quiz games.

“Good t’ing y’ look ten years younger an’ twice as innocent, ey cher?”

 

“Garcia says that it’s the eyes. But your casual look is far more impressive.”

 

Remy snorted, “please, bet dey’d t’ink dat y’ would be like a kicked puppy if dey started on y’, dey wouldn’t dare, while poor Remy here has to rely on de skills of a well spent youth.”

 

“You make it sound like you would have your own personal police cell.”

 

“Oh no, cher, never caught me, dey did.” Remy winked. “Too many skills f’r dem t’ handle.”

 

After last night, Remy wasn’t bothered about talking crime to Spencer.

 

“That either means your ‘skills’ are incredible, or the police stations are worrisome.” Spencer turned to smirk at him.

 

“Eh… bit o’ both- no offence. Though, dere was dis one, a Mr LaMontagne, who was decent enough.”

 

“…did he have a son called Will?”

 

“Yeah, boy were a bit older dan me, I t’ink… didn’t quite run in de same circles, though Remy did go over f’r dinner once or twice- t’ink de old man wanted to convert me bef’re it were too late.” They shared a grin before Remy caught on. “Y’ know his son?”

 

“He’s JJ’s husband.”

 

“No shit!”

 

Catching Remy up on the New Orleans case where they met Will and what happened since lasted them up to a small pub in the food court where they ordered some dinner. After that, Remy saw a pool table, but decided to play it cool. Wearing the ‘casual’ face, he turned, but caught sight of Spencer, already looking at the table, distinctly more amused.

 

“So, do y’ t’ink dis New Awlins homme can beat a Las Vegas un’?”

 

….

 

A few miles away, the BAU team sat locked in their thoughts and running on pure caffeine.

 

“It doesn’t make any sense; a killer this chaotic, this disorganised, should not be applying these advanced counter-forensic measures.”

 

“It’s sadism in it’s worse form for sure, but we’re missing something- bad.  We’ve already got seven victims and can barely work a profile.”

 

“…Hotch, I’d hate to ask, but maybe we should call Reid in, we need as many eyes as possible for this.”

 

Hotch sighed, looking down at his phone.

 

 


End file.
